


Songs that breathe

by Astrodraconic (CelestialKnight)



Series: Songs series [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ishbalan | Ishvalan, Gen, Ishvalan AU, mentions of character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 18:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7233460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialKnight/pseuds/Astrodraconic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the winter of 1900 when the Amestrians annexed Ishval into Amestris. The process had been peaceful compared to the later documented slaughter. Between the time period of 1900 to 1902, when the Ishvalan riots began, it had been peaceful, or more so for a year and a half of the annexation, most of it changed in the last few months when the Eastern soldiers who had been deployed to help integrate Ishvalans into Amestrian lifestyle, while still keeping their own culture, were called back to East City and quickly replaced with Central forces. It was then that tensions between Ishvalans and Amestrians began to rise. Reporters and journalists were sent out to document these changes, to appease the soldiers and citizens who knew Ishvalans, and participated in the cultural exchange that occurred, that everything was moving as swiftly as before. That there was no harm to be found, and at first it was easily believed, no conflicts had escalated past the point of insults brought on by fear. Until the day that a reporter had caught a picture of an Amestrian soldier with a gun raised to two young Ishvalan children, the precursor to the Ishvalan riots. The reporter later died in the riots, the picture lost and unknown to by many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songs that breathe

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of serious story for the Ishvalan au I made. It has a few silly things in it, but that’s more later on. A few things have changed, literally does nothing to the plot of fma what’s so ever, i just displaced the Ishvalan war by like a year, so it starts in 1902 and ends in 1909. Another thing is I gave them different names, Alphonse and Edward are just their middle names, full names in this au are Omid Alphonse Elric and Rida Edward Elric.

_It was the winter of 1900 when the Amestrians annexed Ishval into Amestris. The process had been peaceful compared to the later documented slaughter. Between the time period of 1900 to 1902, when the Ishvalan riots began, it had been peaceful, or more so for a year and a half of the annexation, most of it changed in the last few months when the Eastern soldiers who had been deployed to help integrate Ishvalans into Amestrian lifestyle, while still keeping their own culture, were called back to East City and quickly replaced with Central forces. It was then that tensions between Ishvalans and Amestrians began to rise. Reporters and journalists were sent out to document these changes, to appease the soldiers and citizens who knew Ishvalans, and participated in the cultural exchange that occurred, that everything was moving as swiftly as before. That there was no harm to be found, and at first it was easily believed, no conflicts had escalated past the point of insults brought on by fear. Until the day that a reporter had caught a picture of an Amestrian soldier with a gun raised to two young Ishvalan children, the precursor to the Ishvalan riots. The reporter later died in the riots, the picture lost and unknown to by many._ **  
**

They moved to Resembool at a rather young age, Omid had still only been a year old, Rida the wide eyed age of 3 going on 4, only a bit younger than the daughter of their father’s close friends, the Rockbells. He didn’t talk much the first few months, and rarely opened up. The persistent young daughter, only a few months older than Rida, had ever been able to get him to open up. They had been friends before permanently moving to this small rural town, of course. Their father often visited and brought them along. He remembered vaguely the hours he would spend playing with Winry, talking happily about his friends back home, back in Ishval, in the small Northwestern district of Ki-toor, before being forcefully moved more south, down to the central district, the heart of Ishval. He remembered the days he talked so openly about his friend Noor, who both Winry and them would have gotten along swimmingly. He gripped his knees tighter, memories fresh still scrapping like razors, so distant and hazy, yet painful to the touch. There was a soft knock at the door of his small room he shared with Omid, who was currently out. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge there had even been a knock at the door. A woman with dark skin, chestnut hair and eyes as red as rubies, as red as the blood of her people on desert sand, peeked through the door.

“Rida,” the ever so sweet sound of Ishvalan graced his ears, yet he barely felt himself perk from the revery he felt himself wrapped up in, “Winry’s been worried sick about you. She’d like to know if you would want to come over to play and have supper with Granny Pinako.” Her voice was ever so soft when she spoke the language that was native to him, and it was even softer now than before. He didn’t respond. She frowned and approached her eldest child with delicacy and care. She sat down on the bed beside him, eyeing him with worry. 

“Loss is hard, especially with what you had to see…” she lightly kissed him on the head and wrapped her warm arms around Rida, who only acknowledge the warmth ever so slightly. He looked up into the red eyes he had always wished he had had, or so he had wished in the past, for now they brought pain. She lifted herself off the bed and kneeled in front of her eldest, a warm smile on her face. “Come on, Granny Pinako’s wanted to see you since you’ve arrived. She said you hadn’t even grown an inch from the last time she saw you!” She bopped his nose ever so playfully. He looked up to her, and looked back down. She sighed and raised herself off the ground. She was about to leave when she felt tiny hands wrap around her. She looked down surprised to see Rida’s trembling form. She kneeled down once again, and embraced him tightly in a hug.

“They’re really gone…. They’re really gone…” he rasped out between tears. Trisha rubbed his back in cyclic patterns allowing the bottled up tears to flow. Crying was not a sign of weakness, but one of strength.

“Loss is hard, but remember, the dead still live on in our hearts, in the world around us. They’re not gone as long as you remember them for them, for what made Noor special. Even in death, the dead guide us.” She place her forehead to her son’s in a show of affection before staring into his eyes that she loved so dearly, for they looked like the sunsets of home. She took the apron she adorned and wiped away her son’s tears. She rubbed his cheeks with her thumbs and smiled, he rubbed his eyes and she removed the hands that cuffed his cheeks. She waited patiently for him to settle down. Holding something in like that for so long was painful.

“Are you ready to go see Granny Pinako and Winry?” Rida nodded his head confidently and Trisha smirked. “Let’s go, little man.” He grasped her hand tightly, and they walked down the dirt road round and about to make their way to their ever cheerful neighbours, the Rockbells. They were the local doctors, they loved everyone and in returned they were loved by everyone. They had an only daughter named Winry. When they saw both Rida and Trisha appear in the distance, they stopped the conversation they had been engaged in with Hohenheim and waved over to them.

“I guess the pipsqueak really did grow.” Murmured Granny Pinako from where she stood on the porch.

“Mom!” Chided her only son, Yuri.

“What? There’s nothing wrong in pointing out the obvious?” She stated as if it was such a common thing to say so matter-of-factly. Sarah laughed at the tension of the situation and placed a hand on her husband’s shoulder. They gave a confused stare when they were shoved out of the way quickly by their four year old who came as quickly as she could when she saw her closest friend march up the dirt road.

“Hey, Rida! Auntie Trisha!” She called out gleefully as she waved to Trisha who returned it with a bright smile. She turned back down to Rida and let go of his hand. He gave her a panicked glance before looking back to Winry and making his way up to her. They ended up meeting each other halfway, as Winry, impatient as she was, rushed down to her friend and tackled him with a hug to the ground. They tumbled and tossed in the green grass and dirt of Resembool. Trish covered her hand with her mouth, letting out an ‘oh my!’ In Ishvalan before promptly chuckling at the display.

Winry had grown so much in so little time, now passing Rida in height, she towered over him proudly by a few centimetres, a reality that rooted bitterness in his young heart.

“Winry, go off!” He spoke in broken Amestrian, misplacing his words now and then. Winry smirked proudly over him.

“Um um you’ve been hiding from me and this is payback!” Winry made sure to speak slowly when she spoke to Rida, who had difficulty understanding the hard pronunciations of Amestrian when spoken too quickly.

“Now now Winry, let Rida go.” Sarah called out from the porch, Yuri was sending Hohenheim off, who was awkwardly holding young Omid. He made his way down the path from the Rockbells house to his wife. She graciously took her youngest and gave a quick kiss to her husband, telling him it was okay, she knew he was rather socially awkward and he was trying his best. She loved him no matter what. She smiled fondly, holding the sleeping bundle that was Omid, as she watched Hohenheim trek back to their home.

“So Trisha, how’s…” and it was how they continued their evening. As Rida, Winry and, the now awake, Omid played with Den, Trisha spent time, talking to the Rockbells, giving news on how her family was doing in Ishval, with the war and all. Only her, her children and her husband had been in the heart of Ishval, her family was closer to her hometown than she wished she could have been. The soldiers hadn’t reached them yet, but she prayed to Ishvala it would be over by than. The Rockbells wished for the same.

A year later, Rida would wake up with his younger brother Omid to take him to the bathroom quite early in the morning and catch the fleeting form of their father leaving, never to be seen again. It was in this moment Rida, at the young age of four, misread the situation as any normal young child would, and allowed it to be his source of hatred he was unable to blame on anything else, as any young child would do.

With the departure of their father, Trisha decided it would be best to allow her sons to better learn about their culture. The best way to do so was through anything that could keep a three year old and a four year old active, and this just so happened to be through singing and dancing. In Ki-toor, culture was far more important than religion. In a harsh environment, they got through in many ways, and in the Northwestern district of Ki-toor, it was through self expression of folk dances and songs. Trisha had been able to bring very few things of Ishval with her, photos had been one, and a few of her instruments have been another. The small ones, like a tambourine. It was lucky Hohenheim had a drum in their home in Resembool or else what she had planned would have been ruined. She took with her the few tambourines and the drum, laying a chair out in the grass to sit. She called over to her son’s and made them sit down in front of her.

“Hey mom? What’s this?” Her youngest spoke in broken Ishvalan. He was far more proficient in Amestrian, as it was the one native to his tongue. He pointed to the tambourines and the drums, she smiled brightly.

“This, my little men, are the voices of our people.” They both looked at the instruments in awe.

“Didn’t uncle Arya use to play this?” Rida pointed to the drum positioned in front of Trisha. She nodded her head.

“You remember that?” She spoke proudly.

“A little…” Rida spoke bashfully. Trisha smiled brightly.

“I want both of you to take this small instrument right here, it’s called a tambourine.” She watched amused as her sons voiced out the words. She clapped her hands in delight, “very good! Now take it in the hand you’re most comfortable gripping with, yes Omid that hand, now I want you to follow me closely.” Trisha stood up and picked up a tambourine of her own. She noted Winry watching from afar and smiled in her direction. The young girl became bashful and quickly hid away once again. She was positive the small blonde was still watching.

Trisha began her steps slowly as her son’s followed her lead, Omid tripped and fell quickly frequently while Rida only stumbled a few times, as Trisha repeated more, he got the hang of it better and better. Trisha stopped and clasped her hands.

“Very good, both of you!” Rida beamed while Omid only looked down to his feet disappointed. Trisha kneeled in front of him with a reassuring smile. She took his hands and covered them. He looked up to their smiling face.

“Not everyone can dance, but maybe someone as special as you can play something difficult like the drums? It takes a brave, strong man just like yourself to play it.” Trisha bopped Omid on the nose, who giggled. He sat himself down on the chair in front of the drums and kicked his legs back and forth whimsically. Trisha raised herself from the ground and walked over to her son. She placed her hands atop of his and showed him the patterns he should play. It took Omid a few tries, but he quickly got a hand of the pace of the drumming. Trisha praised him, delighted to see him find something he enjoyed.

“Now we combine the language of dance and the language of sound with our own words.” She taught them, “this one is nothing more than a common one for no real special occasion, but to enjoy the now for we do not know what tomorrow will bring.” And so she took her stance again, and this time sung along to the melody rather slowly so her boys could sing along with her, and they did, and it may have sounded off key, but they were having fun, and they were happy. They laughed and they sang until their feet hurt and their voices coarse. It was a moment of happiness both young boys wished to never forget and to continue to enjoy forever.


End file.
